


(Don't) Wake Me Up To See The Sunrise

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Worship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, kind of, really just Castiel being sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: “Hey.” Firm arms wind around Castiel’s waist from behind, broad palms pressing against his stomach with strong fingers splayed almost possessively. Plush lips brush tenderly along the nape of his neck. “Wha’ ‘re you doin’ up?”





	(Don't) Wake Me Up To See The Sunrise

The balcony door slides open and then closed behind Castiel. He doesn’t turn, leaning forward with his forearms pressed to the metal barrier, calmly inhaling the scent of rain. This weather is his favourite. Rain plummeting straight down like a curtain from the light sky, the soft cool breeze not strong enough to force the droplets away from their gravity induced fall to the ground below.

“Hey.” Firm arms wind around Castiel’s waist from behind, broad palms pressing against his stomach with strong fingers splayed almost possessively. Plush lips brush tenderly along the nape of his neck. “Wha’ ‘re you doin’ up,” Dean murmurs, words careless and slurred with sleep.

Tilting his head to knock it gently against Dean’s, Castiel smiles. “Sam wanted to see the sunrise.”

“Bett’r been good t’ Baby,” Dean hums, drowsily nuzzling Castiel’s neck.

Castiel places a hand on the two at his belly, the pad of his thumb tracing nonsensical patterns over Dean’s knuckles. “Of course.” He carefully turns around in the circle of Dean’s arms.

Settling his hands on Castiel’s hips, Dean deliberately closes his half lidded eyes in a long blink. Castiel remembers accidentally stumbling across a video of a tiger doing the same blink on the internet, remembers reading that felines — large or small — do it only when they feel content and safe. Dean blinks again, slow and lazy and sleepy; something in Castiel melts into an adoring puddle.

“Sam paid for breakfast.” Castiel reaches up to fondly adjust the blanket draped over Dean’s bare shoulders like a cape.

“Mm.”

“There’s coffee. And pie,” Castiel casually mentions, silently wondering if it would be enough to coax Dean awake.

Evidently not. There is a brief glimmer of interest in Dean’s eyes — otherwise, the words barely seem to register. Instead of taking the bait, Dean steps closer, head dipping and eyes closing. Instantly recognizing Dean’s intentions, Castiel reflexively tilts his head up, his own eyes falling shut.

And then Dean makes a disgruntled sound, equal parts indignant and confused.

Startled, Castiel peers up at Dean, who is glaring daggers at something on Castiel’s head. With a frown, Castiel looks up, and sees the brim of his cap. _ Oh. _ Dean must have run into that.

He tries, he really does. But Castiel’s laughter bursts out of him despite his efforts, low rumbling chuckles that make Dean even more grumpy, little discontented dimples appearing on each side of his mouth when he presses his lips together.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel gasps breathlessly around his laughter at Dean’s unimpressed scowl, “that — _heh —_ that’s _ adorable. _ Sorry. I’ll… stop laughing.”

When Castiel looks back up, Dean’s gaze is determinedly pointed out across the balcony, away from Castiel. A blush warms his cheeks, the beautifully soft shade of pink under his skin bringing the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones out in stark relief. The morning sun caresses one side of Dean’s face, the light bleeding sideways through Dean’s eye and enhancing the breathtaking green into a brilliant pure hue that only existed as the tint of a precious gem from the earth.

“Dean.” Castiel nudges the brim of his cap up and out of the way, pressing the palm of one hand to Dean’s cheek.

Flush still sitting high on his cheeks, Dean turns his head to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“Kiss me?”

Holding Castiel’s face between his hands, Dean does, ducking his head to avoid the cap. Castiel rests his hands on the small of Dean’s back under the blanket. Dean’s skin is cooling, but there’s still a lingering warmth from sleep. They should probably head inside soon. It’s over far too quickly for Castiel’s liking, just a simple press of lips; but Dean is smiling, so Castiel doesn’t protest.

Dean presses his forehead to Castiel’s, nearly cross eyed from trying to see Castiel at such close proximity. “Hey, Cas,” he whispers.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel returns, matching Dean’s volume.

They breathe in silence together. It continues drizzling, the scent of fresh rain strong in the air. Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s bare skin even through his clothes.

“Come back to bed?”

When Dean steps back toward the door with his fingers closed around Castiel’s, tugging lightly, Castiel follows.

Back inside with the balcony door locked behind them, Dean releases Castiel and flops onto their bed without preamble, curling his body into a loose crescent under the blanket he’d brought out onto the balcony with him. He waves a hand in Castiel’s general direction, simultaneously shoving his face into a pillow. “C’mere, Cas.” A shiver runs through Dean’s body and he pulls his legs up closer to his chest, wrapping the blanket tight around his shoulders with a quiet huff.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“Not warm anymore,” Dean grumbled, wiggling restlessly in the nest of blankets and pillows on their bed. _ “C’mere.” _

Castiel obediently climbed onto the bed after peeling off his socks and jeans. The instant he’s close enough, Dean presses up against Castiel’s side. Setting his cap on the nightstand, Castiel removes his shirt and tosses it to the floor where the rest of his clothes are, absently ruffling a hand through his disheveled hair.

“S’cold,” Dean mutters, trailing off with a happy sigh when warm arms press him against an even warmer chest.

“Sorry.”

“Wha’ for,” Dean practically slurs, gradually relaxing as Castiel’s body heat rapidly warms the blankets around them.

“Woke you up,” Castiel murmurs guiltily.

“‘m a big boy, c’n take care of myself.”

“I—”

Well on his way to unconsciousness, Dean’s voice sinks deep and quiet. He has to smack at Castiel’s chest — with no real force, weak but insistent — just to get him to stop talking and _ listen. _ “‘kay make i’ up t’ me. Stay.”

“You don’t ever need to ask—”

“Mm,” Dean purrs, pressing a light kiss to Castiel’s collarbone. “Sleep.”

“...Okay,” Castiel relents.

Dean’s next exhale seems to force all the tension out of him, his body going limp and pliant in Castiel’s arms.

Castiel always loves holding Dean while he’s asleep. Feeling his chest rise and fall with his full, steady breaths. The way he sometimes moves in his sleep, whether it be a simple fitful flex of muscle or the whole movement of nestling closer to Castiel. Hearing his occasional gentle snores, something that typically only occurs when Dean is absolutely and wholly exhausted, when he _ needs _ the sleep.

And Castiel’s most favourite thing of all? When there is enough light in the room for visibility. To see: the strong curves of Dean’s body, hidden under the blankets like the rarest treasure; thick fan of his eyelashes; delicate, graceful slope of his cheekbones; sharp defined edge of his jaw; soft pink swell of his lips. It’s a shame that Castiel can’t see Dean’s eyes when he’s asleep, but his disappointment is unfailingly curbed by the opportunity to freely count the gorgeous freckles scattered across Dean’s skin like constellations.

He doesn’t notice the way he’s been idly running the tips of his fingers in senseless paths (that are soothing in their repetition) up and down the dip of Dean’s spine until he stops. Dean makes a dissatisfied noise — that could only be categorized as a whine and nothing else — in his sleep, shifting to push back against Castiel’s fingers until they get the hint and continue where they left off.

Castiel falls asleep to the sound of Dean’s slow rhythmic breathing and the sensation of Dean’s skin beneath his fingers.


End file.
